


The Gambler

by Elvichar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvichar/pseuds/Elvichar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was used to taking risks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gambler

**Author's Note:**

> A smidge of pre-slash if you want to read it that way (I certainly do). Possible minor spoilers for all of the series The Great Game. Inference and slight innuendo that is either very subtle or hits you like a brick depending on whether you spot it or not. A one-shot, character study.  
> Summary: Canon ACD John is a gambler. Perhaps this John is too.  
> Warnings: Gambling, if that counts as a trigger.

It was one of the few things he was ashamed of.

John's army pension was adequate, he probably could have just about got by on it, but he hadn't had any spare cash for the whole time he'd been back from Afghanistan. At first he had gone to betting shops, but he had quickly started to feel that people were silently judging him. Which was ridiculous, seeing as if they were there they were probably just as addicted as he was.

John had tried to broach the subject with Ella, but gambling wasn't really her specialist area – and besides, he didn't really want to stop. The computer had not, on reflection, helped as he had quickly discovered a dozen sites where you could very quickly work through vast amounts of cash, not only betting on unlikely outcomes but burning through money on slot machines and virtual scratch cards.

To be honest the games where there were no elements of skill involved appealed to him a little more in his frame of mind. He felt terrible about himself, worthless, and by sitting there working through every spare penny he had instead of writing his blog, he somehow felt vindicated in that feeling.

“Look,” he felt like telling Ella, “It's all pointless, I have no control over anything, least of all my own life.”

He didn't tell her though.

The wintry day when he realise he had spent all the money he had put aside for a deposit on a flat was one of the worst days he had had since getting back. He still had enough for a few more days in the grim room where he was staying, and he could extend his overdraft for rent somewhere cheap and depressing for a month or so, but there was no longer any way he could realistically afford anywhere outside of the seedier districts of London.

The whole meeting Mike, meeting Sherlock, getting a deal on a room in central London thing was ridiculously dreamlike. The rent was far lower than anything he could have imagined finding – Gumtree's best option up until then had been a bed in a shared house in Golders Green – the advert had said “sharing a room with five Australians”, he had thought they meant a house, but, no, they meant there were five of them in one single, not particularly hug room.

Apart from the rent this place was right opposite the tube station, there was no deposit to pay and his new flatmate was incredibly welcoming. He had asked him to move in so very quickly.

It seemed like a good gamble, and if he lost then maybe that would be good too.

That morning he had considered taking up roulette with his gun, so if his new flatmate turned out to be a serial killer that was fine - the way his life was going that was, at least, an interesting twist on the inevitable.

If he ended up hacked up and stuffed down a drain it would be a pretty decent alternative to a self-administered bullet to the brain.

–

He must have seen the tabs for all the gambling sites, John realised when he snatched his laptop away from his new flatmate. And yet Sherlock said nothing. John was grateful.

He had to get a grip though. He had spent so much money on the sites that the bank had stopped him using his debit card. Sherlock must have known there was a chance John would use the credit card he lent him to set up another online account, but he didn't seem to care. That. Or it was a test of John's resolve.

John wasn't sure if, in not using it in that way, he had passed or failed.

He did know that all the risks he was taking with Sherlock, all the adrenaline rushes and the high probability of death, were helping him save money. Why bother with a slot machine when you could gamble with your own life?

It wasn't enough, though. He needed more.

He had never had a good poker face, his expressions told everyone else far too much (though John himself was never completely aware quite how much he gave away by his looks) and at the pool he had also been made painfully aware that other parts of his anatomy were also not good at faking it.

It wasn't just the excitement of the risk that had caused the involuntary reaction, but that was certainly a factor.

And Moriarty had known exactly what was happening when he called John's bluff.

Sherlock had also shown that he couldn't keep up his usual poker face all the time. It gave John some hope.

Much later, after it had all been resolved (inasmuch as they weren't dead yet) John decided he needed to take just one more chance. He knew it wouldn't really be the last - but if he won, it would offset so many of his past, and even future, losses that it would be worth it.

He played his hand.


End file.
